


Please Come Home for Christmas

by okapi



Series: Many Times, Many Ways (the Christmas fics) [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Anthropomorphic, Biologist!Greg, Biologist!Stamford, Christmas, Gen, Lizard!Anthea, Lizard!John, Lizard!Mycroft, Lizard!Sherlock, Pining Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has quite the adventure when she accidentally stows away in Lestrade's Jeep. Meanwhile back at the wildlife refuge, John makes a new friend and together they find a way to bring Sherlock home.</p><p>Lizard!Sherlock/Lizard!John. From the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1920123/chapters/4143525">Under the Western Sky</a> 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helpful to have read [Under a Western Sky](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1920123/chapters/4143525) first, especially for later chapters. [Chapter 14](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4314987/chapters/9846803) of [Doom, Despair, and Agony on Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4314987/chapters/9783327) is also about this pairing.
> 
> Sherlock and John are New Mexico whiptails (Aspidoscelis neomexicana), which are an all-female, parthenogenic species of lizard that live in the southwestern United States and northern Mexico, primarily the Rio Grande river valley. Despite reproducing asexually, they also engage in mating behavior (pseudocopulation). They are diurnal and insectivorous. The setting for this AU is loosely based on Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico.

_Get out of the Jeep, Sherlock!_

**_This is interesting, John. And new. A vehicle in operation!_ **

_We are lizards, Sherlock. New Mexico whiptails or if you prefer the Latin…_

**_Which I always do. Aspidoscelis neomexicana._ **

_And that means that the only thing we’re supposed to know about vehicles in operation is that they’re to be avoided because they are responsible for our kind ending up scaly pancakes on the highway._

**_I’m not under the tires, John, or even outside the vehicle. I’m in the driver’s seat, literally, though perhaps not figuratively…_ **

John skittered into a nearby clump of bushes, then darted back to the edge of the path.

_As your mate, Sherlock, it’s my duty to nag until you give your safety—and my peace of mind—some consideration. Plus, we’re supposed to be hibernating._

**_Hibernating’s boring!_ **

_You’re the only lizard I know who takes a vacation from a vacation._

Boots crunched on gravel.

_He’s coming back! Quick, Sherlock, now!_

**_Hmm. What’s in here? Papers and more papers. Writing implement. Flashlight? That might be a worth commandeering. For science, of course._ **

“Okay! Got everything this time. Glove box, why are you open?”

WHAM!

“Now, let’s hit the road! Merry Christmas, furry, feathered, and forked-tongued friends! See you next year!”

**_JOHN!_ **

_SHERLOCK!_

At the spray of rocks, John launched herself into back into the bushes. Then she peeked out and blinked.

_Sherlock?_


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark.

Sherlock wiggled.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She twisted until she was able to flick the switch of the flashlight with her snout.

Trapped!

She had to find a way out. If she jumped from the vehicle now—provided she survived the impact—she would still be able to find her way back.

Back home.

Back to John.

**_John?_ **

Nothing. The distance had severed their link.

What was John doing right now? How worried—no, at this point John had to be in a state far beyond her habitual nervousness—how distraught must she be?

Sherlock’s body quivered.

Then she forcibly pushed John from her thoughts. She had no time to dwell on sentiment, she had to devise an escape.

There was a latched panel. She had to find a way to force it open. With a hard shove, she hit the flashlight against the side of the compartment.

BANG!

Nothing.

BANG!

Sherlock realized that she was panting. A bit Not Good, as John would say. She must conserve air. She concentrated on slowing her breathing. She would wait for the right moment, and then make her move.

She had to stay alert and stay alive. For John.


	3. Chapter 3

_SHERLOCK?_

John’s eyes darted back and forth.

_SHERLOCK?_

The sun was setting. She’d been travelling down the side of the highway since Sherlock’s disappearance.

A truck roared by.

John froze.

The noise. The wind. The vibrations.

The threat.

John quashed her instinct to skitter for the hills.

Sherlock was a cold-blooded idiot, but she was _John’s_ cold-blooded idiot, and if she had jumped from the Jeep, she might be hurt, but still alive.

John kept searching.

_SHERLOCK?_


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock began to despair.

The air in the tiny space was nearly exhausted. Most of her energy had been spent trying—unsuccessfully—to force the latch.

And now she was being serenaded to her death.

> “Well, way up north where the air gets cold,
> 
> There’s a tale about Christmas that you've all been told.
> 
> And a real famous cat all dressed up in red,
> 
> All he spends all year workin' out on his sled.
> 
> It's the little Saint Nick—“

Sherlock knew the human’s taste in music because she had, on numerous occasions, pilfered his music devices. The squares called ‘shuffles’ were her favorite as they were easily transported back to the burrow. She and John listened—through what John had nicknamed ‘burrow-phones’—until the devices died; then, after much nagging by John, Sherlock returned them.

Sherlock enjoyed the music that the human labelled ‘classical’ whilst John favored ‘country.’ She did not know the genre of the abomination currently assaulting her.

> “Run, run reindeer,
> 
> Run, run, reindeer!
> 
> He don’t miss no one!”

A loud, high-pitched noise cut through the warbling.

WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO!

“Oh shit! It’s Christmas Eve, man. Give me a break!”

The vehicle was stopping. Sherlock tensed. Perhaps this was her chance.

“License and registration.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Here’s my license and um…”

CLICK!

Dim light and cool air flooded the compartment.

Sherlock seized the moment and hid herself amongst a cascade of papers that tumbled to the floor of the vehicle. Then she scurried behind a heavy object. To her excitement, it was a pack with large side pockets. The perfect hiding place!

“It’s here, uh, somewhere, sorry, officer.”

Fingers rifled through the papers. Sherlock froze as they almost brushed her tail.

“Uh, yeah, here you go.”

“From around here?”

Sherlock slid into the pocket. She inflated her lungs, flexed all her extremities, and considered her options. Should she climb up and jump out the window? Where was she? She realized that she’d lost track of distance and direction since the Jeep’s departure. How would she make her way back?

Back home. Back to John.

“Sort of. I’m stationed at the Refuge.”

“Ranger?”

“No. I’m a biologist. I study reptiles, some amphibians and birds, but mostly…”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, Christ, no. I wish! I mean, not when I’m driving, of course, but, you know, I’m just trying to get home. For Christmas.”

“All right, well, this is your warning, Mister, uh, Lestrade. I see you again speeding on this road, it’ll be a ticket.”

“Thank you, officer. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Stay safe.”

Sherlock watched as two hands returned papers to her former cell.

“How the hell did lizard shit get in my glove box? Weird.”


	5. Chapter 5

_SHERLOCK?_

John shivered. She had reached the spot where the highway diverged, but had no idea which way the Jeep might have gone.

So far, there’d been no sign of Sherlock, alive or dead.

What should she do? Go back to the burrow?

John rarely travelled at night and never without Sherlock by her side. But even if she managed the return journey, what then? Hibernate alone? With Sherlock’s hoard—but no actual Sherlock—around her? Most of the bits and bobs were foreign to John, but she did her best to keep things tidy. To take care of the burrow. To take care of Sherlock.

But she had failed this time. Sherlock’s curiosity had bested her.

John blinked.  

No, she would not return to the burrow. She would scratch a place to hide for the night here and decide what to do next in the morning.

John turned away from the road.

Her eye caught something moving in the bushes.

She froze.


	6. Chapter 6

Still tucked inside the pocket, Sherlock thrummed with anticipation.

A human burrow!

She had visited the Ranger’s station on occasion and she knew the biologists’ tent as well as she knew her own dwelling, but this was new.

And not boring at all!

If only John were here!

But this was simply another chapter in their epic tale. Once she and John were reunited—after a period of euphoric relief—they would spend the rest of their winter hibernation nestled close with Sherlock recounting the entirety of her adventure. And John would be in such awe that she would use all of her ‘Sherlock’ words.

Extraordinary. Fantastic. Amazing.

Sherlock was thrown forward and backward with the swinging of the pack.

“Ah, just in time!”

The jangle of keys. The squeak of a door.

“Hello, ghost! I’m home! Merry Christmas! The tree came!”

Sherlock’s world went still.

Scraping. Another squeak of a door.

Sherlock knew that the biologist’s name was Greg, but who was Ghost? She had never heard him mention the name.

“Almost got a speeding ticket! That would’ve been a lump of coal in my stocking, wouldn’t it?”

Sherlock understood that many humans kept companion animals in their burrows. Ghost might be a cat or a dog or some other mammal, in which case, she might be in imminent danger of not just being discovered, but eaten!

Sherlock listened. There was music. Music that she recognized. Music that she liked.

Mendelssohn.

Ghost could be another human, a mate, one with more agreeable taste in music than Greg. Sherlock knew that Stamford, the biologist shared the tent with Greg, had a mate and offspring.

Sherlock blinked. Should she venture a look?

It might be dangerous.

“Okay, ghost, you can have your pretty tunes for the moment, but as soon as I get this field stink off me, it’s going to be Christmas carols all night long! Ho, ho, ho!”

At the shutting of a door, Sherlock peeked her head out of her hiding place.

Her eyes swept around the room.

Then she froze.

Something was moving in the shadows. 


	7. Chapter 7

_You’re a whiptail!_ _Why aren’t you hibernating?_

**_Why aren’t you? Are you looking for someone?_ **

John moved closer. She was smaller than John with a green throat and large eyes that grew larger at John’s reply.

_My mate. She disappeared. Have you seen her? She’s got a dark blue throat. She’s very smart. Too smart sometimes. Like now._

**_No, I haven’t seen her. She disappeared?_ **

_Yes, earlier today she—this is going to sound ridiculous, but believe me, it’s true—intentionally snuck into a human vehicle and accidentally got stuck._

**_You’ve been searching for her all this time?_ **

_Yes, all afternoon. I thought that if she jumped from the window of the Jeep, she might have landed alongside the highway._

**_And?_ **

_Nothing. No sign of her._

**_What are you going to do now?_ **

_It’s too far to return home tonight. I was planning to sleep here. Somewhere._

John looked about them.

**_Have you eaten?_ **

_No. For once in my scaly existence, my next meal has not been my priority._

**_I know a beetle spot._ **

John blinked.

_At this time of year, at this time of night?_

**_Yes. Would you like to go with me?_ **

_Yes! Lead on!_

* * *

 They munched.

_These beetles are good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I’ve been so worried._

**_I can offer you a safe place to rest as well._ **

_That’s very kind of you, but won’t your mate…?_

**_I haven’t a mate._ **

_Oh, well, okay._

**_There’s an entrance right over here._ **

* * *

 John dashed all about the burrow, flicking her tail.

_Wow! This is the tidiest burrow I’ve ever seen. And so organized! It’s fantastic! I wish our burrow was like this, but it’s impossible with Sherlock’s constantly accumulating piles of junk. And her experiments._

**_Thank you. Sherlock is your mate? That’s the name you were calling._ **

_Oh, I’m sorry, yes. My name is John. My mate’s name is Sherlock. What’s your name?_

_Nobody?_

**_No, I mean I don’t have a name._ **

John blinked.

_Well, thank you for the hospitality. I guess it’s time to call it a very long day._

**_Good night, John._ **

_Good night. Hey, how about tomorrow you let me return the favour? We can go back to Baker Quadrant together._

**_Baker Quadrant?_ **

_I didn’t know either, until Sherlock, but the Refuge, this whole area, is divided into sections, and the section where Sherlock and I live is called the Baker Quadrant. It is adjacent to a tent where a pair of biologists work. One of the biologists was driving the Jeep that took Sherlock._

**_She really climbed into a human vehicle on purpose?_ **

_While it was running!_

**_Why?_ **

S _herlock is very curious as well as very smart. And she likes to steal things from the biologists to study. Sometimes she conducts experiments, too. And solves puzzles. She’s always searching for new things, to learn, to try, to investigate._

**_And the humans don’t know that she steals from them?_ **

_She’s never been caught and, as Sherlock would say, they’re idiots. But to be fair, she thinks practically everyone is, including me, most of the time._

The whiptail blinked.

**_John, I haven’t been completely truthful with you. I did have a mate, well, I thought she was my mate, but she disappeared soon after I met her. It was around the time of the last brush fire—_ **

_Oh, it was awful. That’s where I got my scar._

John turned to show the mangled swath of skin across her back _._

**_Ah, you’re a veteran._ **

_Yes. A Ranger rescued me after I was injured and brought me to the biologists’ tent there. That’s where I met Sherlock, raiding it like a pirate._

**_Sherlock sounds like my mate: inquisitive, intelligent, disdainful of others, but also charming. I assume my mate died in the fire. She told me that she had a habit of wandering about at night and not to worry. I woke one day, and she was gone. I keep the burrow ready in case she returns. She was quite fastidious in her habits._ **

_That’s horrible. I’m so sorry. Is that why you don’t have a name? And why you’re not hibernating?_

**_I thought she was going to give me a name. Silly, I know. Part of me doesn’t want to hibernate, I want to be awake and alert, ready for her when she returns. The other part of me simply can’t hibernate. They say that when your mate dies, you feel it. Do you think that’s true?_ **

_I don’t know. I don’t feel anything but exhausted._

**_Rest. I will go with you to Baker Quadrant tomorrow. I think a change of scenery will do me a world of good._ **

_And I will appreciate the company. You can show me how to arrange the burrow, as you’ve done here. And I can tell you about some of Sherlock’s cases, that’s what she calls the puzzles that she solves. The one about the kangaroo rat is especially exciting._

**_I would like that. Good night, John._ **

_Good night._


	8. Chapter 8

The figure drew closer. Sherlock’s eyes widened.

**_You’re…_ **

_Hello, Sister Dear_

**_….dead._ **

_The human language is fascinating, isn’t it? They have a word for an apparition of the deceased manifested to the living._

**_Ghost._ **

_Yes. The complexity of the lexicon is just..._

**_What are you doing here, Mycroft?_ **

_Mycroft? Oh!_

Her thick tail whipped.

_Mycroft, Mycroft, yes, well, that’s quite appropriate seeing as how we’re sisters, although in a parthenogenic species that’s hardly a distinguishing term, I mean, we’re all sisters somewhat, but yes, yes, Mycroft, it is fitting because I am…_

_**…so fat!** _

_…the smart one._

**_You are not the smart one!_ **

_So I accept. Mycroft it is. You’ve taken to calling yourself Sherlock?_

**_Naturally. You’ve been here since the brush fire?_ **

_Yes. I came in the Jeep as you did. And is there a Watson?_

Sherlock’s eyes dilated.

**_John. Yes, she’s a brush fire veteran._ **

_Interesting._

**_How have you—_ **

_Excuse me._

Mycroft scurried up a staircased pile of pillows, across the length of the sofa, and over the sofa-arm to the desk and the tablet that lay atop it. She tapped the tablet with her foot. The music changed.

**_Tchaikovsky._ **

_Yes. The humans celebrate the winter solstice. There is an accompanying genre of music called…_

**_Christmas. I heard some on the way here. It’s awful._ **

_I agree, but there are a few palatable selections, such as this one. I’m afraid my efforts to improve Gregory’s musical taste have met with only modest success._

**_Gregory?_ **

_I detest diminutives._

**_You put the classical music on his shuffle, didn’t you? You must show me how._ **

_Yes, yes. All in due time, Sister Dear._

A door squeaked. Mycroft scampered to the floor and slid under the sofa. Sherlock followed her.

“Okay, ghost, your pretty little ballerina shit is nice, but now it’s time for some ‘Santa Claus is coming to town!’ I’m going to order me some Chinese, get my dirty Santa Claus on, and fix me up a tree! Woo-hoo!”

**_You’ve been living here this whole time and he has never seen you?_ **

_He’s aware of my existence, but…_

**_Ghost._ **

_Yes._

**_Humans are idiots._ **

_You shall not speak of Gregory like that!_

Sherlock blinked.

**_You’re mad._ **


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, Grandma got run over by a reindeer!”

_Say it._

“Walking home from our house Christmas Eve!”

_Say it!_

**_No!_ **

_Say ‘Mycroft, you were right’ or I won’t reveal to you the Holy Grail that is one-click shopping._

“…you can say there’s no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa, we believe!”

**_You were right, Mycroft. This is worse than the one about the hippopotamus._ **

Knock! Knock!

“Oh yea! Mister Kung Pao! Mister Kung Pow-pow-pow! Greggy’s dinner is here!”

_NOW!_

Mycroft darted from under the sofa. Sherlock raced after her.

* * *

Mycroft nudged open a door.

_Get in._

Sherlock crawled into a dark space.

_Move over._

Mycroft pushed in behind Sherlock and let the door close behind her.

_The key to life, Sister Dear, is resourcefulness and timely alliance-building—and breaking, when absolutely necessary. The length of my stay here as well as my ability to co-exist with Gregory undetected might have been very brief indeed had I not found this portal to the adjacent burrow._

Sherlock followed Mycroft through a tunnel into another dark space. Mycroft poked her head out of a door.

_Ah, the coast is, as the humans say, clear._

Mycroft stepped into the light.

_Good evening, Mistress Toby and the warmest compliments of the season to you and yours on this festive solstice eve. ‘Tis only I, your humble—_

**_That’s a lark!_ **

Mycroft lashed at Sherlock’s snout with her tail.

_—neighbor with my emaciated—_

**_If by ‘emaciated’ you mean ‘lacking in my scale-shattering-corpulence’—_ **

_—but, alas, dim-witted—_

**_You are not the smart one! But even if I am dim-witted, let’s consider the genetic source, shall we?_ **

_—sister. We’ve arrived to partake of the tiniest bit of repast with Master Smaug._

Two golden eyes glowed. A tabby tail swished.

_Mistress Toby is a feline of few words._

**_MYCROFT!_ **

Sherlock flew back behind the door.

**_She doesn’t need words, Mycroft! She’s got twenty claws and thirty teeth!_ **

Mycroft approached the cat.

_And my, doesn’t your coat look splendid! I believe you must be enjoying your new catnip-enhanced combo scratch mat and brush arch, compliments of Master Gregory and myself, of course._

**YOU. MAY. PASS.**

_Thank you, thank you, your Highness. Come, Sherlock. Now._

Sherlock re-emerged and followed Mycroft. They passed through two rooms. The noise grew louder.

Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

_Good. She’s left them here. Good evening, Master Smaug!_

Sherlock looked up and saw a glass box resting on a table. Pressed against the glass, there appeared a snout and a scaly front foot, waving.

_Master Smaug, this is my sister, Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Master Smaug, of the Pogona genus, who graciously allows me to sample a bit from his smorgasbord._

The hand continued to wave.

_Very friendly, as most of the bearded dragons are, but, of course, it’s way past his bedtime._

Sherlock spied a jumping cricket and lunged.

**_It tastes…_ **

Sherlock cocked her head.

**_…more cricket-y._ **

_They are ‘gut loaded,’ meaning they are intentionally, artificially fortified with nutrients. I have methods of laying siege to the cage._

Mycroft glanced at up at a wire box full of chirping insects.

_But that’s rarely unnecessary. As you see, there are ample rogue ones._

Sherlock and Mycroft dashed about the nooks and crannies of the room, slurping up bugs.

**_John would love these! Beetles are my only true rival for her affection._ **

_Affection?_

**_Yes, what of it? John is an amazing contradiction. In times of calm, she is completely anxiety-ridden, always nagging me to eat and sleep and tidy the burrow._ **

_Sounds horrid._

**_But in times of danger, she is fearless and brave and smart._ **

Mycroft stopped eating and stared at Sherlock.

**_No, not smart like you or I, but in her own practical way, very astute. I adore her._ **

_Caring is not an advantage, Sister Dear._

**_How would you know? And you’re wrong. On one occasion, the affair of the kangaroo rat, she sacrificed her tail to save my life. I have no doubt that she would sacrifice it and more—indeed, her very life—for me without hesitation. And I, for my part, would not want to live in a world without her. Speaking of mates—_ **

_Come here._

Mycroft led Sherlock to another room. The floor was slick and cool. Against one wall was a shallow box.

_This is where I tend to bodily functions. It makes for more hygienic living and leaves no tell-tale evidence for Gregory to find._

Sherlock blinked.

**_What is its original purpose?_ **

_It’s for Toby’s use._

Mycroft crawled into the box. Sherlock crawled in after her.

**_I don’t know if I’ll be able to—_ **

A jangle of keys. A door opening.

“To-o-oby! Merry Christmas!”

**_I guess I was wrong._ **

_Let’s go. Now!_

Mycroft and Sherlock hurried back the way they’d come. They huddled together in the darkness.

**_So the meal chamber of this burrow is connected to the meal chamber of the adjacent one?_ **

_Yes, as you can see, the short tunnel affords a quick and efficient exodus when required._

They peeked out of the door, one atop the other, but quickly drew back at the sight of a red pajama-clad leg. 

“Ugh. That was great! Now, time to get my Dirty Santa Claus on! Oh yeah, oh yeah!”

**_Translate._ **

_Humans at times consume substances that, with sufficient quantity, produce mind-altering states._

“Got my curacao. Got my cinnamon schnapps. Got my vodka, of course. And my cran-cran-cran juice. Here we go. Cheers, ghost! Man, that’s good! Let’s put up a tree! I saw Mom-my kissing San-ta Claus! Un-der-neath the mis-tle-toe last ni-i-ight!”

**_Idiot!_ **

Mycroft attempted to strike Sherlock with her tail, but Sherlock deflected it with a quick turn and slash of her own. Then they glared at each other, snout to snout.

_How’s the peyote, Sherlock?_

**_I don't know, seeing as how I no longer consume it. John finds it distressing._ **

Mycroft blinked.

_This John._

**_Yes. My John._ **


	10. Chapter 10

 

> “Listen, your boss – any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?”
> 
> “Sure.”
> 
> “You’ve told him already, haven’t you?”
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “Hey, um ... do you ever get any free time?”
> 
> “Oh, yeah. Lots.”

Sherlock looked away from the screen and over at Mycroft, who was perched on the other arm of the sofa.

**_She reminds me of—_ **

_Yes, well._

Sherlock looked down at the human form that lay sprawled between them.

**_How long will he remain in this state? of unconsciousness_  **

_Difficult to say not knowing his baseline level of fatigue, but given the amount of alcohol he consumed and the amount of food eaten prior to that consumption, I’d say a minimum of three hours, maximum of six in this position, at which point he will retire to his sleeping chamber for an additional two to four hours._

Mycroft tilted her head.

_Hair on the upper torso is considered by some humans to be a sign of virility in mates._

**_As a member of an all-female parthenogenic species, I can’t say that ‘virility’ is a concept that holds much interest._ **

Mycroft looked back at the screen.

_Sherlock, do you ever feel as if your true self is incompatible with your physical form?_

**_Every moment of my existence, but…_ **

_Yes?_

**_Well, John. She makes it much easier to bear the limitations._ **

_How so?_

**_It is because of those limitations that I am able to be with her, to be understood, to be accepted, and to be loved. And to understand and accept and love her._ **

_Ah._

**_Don’t you ever think of her, your mate?_ **

_We were not properly mated. She’s exceedingly capable. I’m sure that she’s fairing very well with another._

**_The bond doesn’t break, Mycroft, no matter how tenuous!_ **

_Of course, it does, Sherlock._

Sherlock blinked.

**_The idea of John mating with another is abhorrent to me. I would sacrifice all that I have learned today and will ever learn here to prevent it._ **

_We are different in that respect, then._

**_Yes. You plan to spend the remainder of your days here?_ **

There was a loud snore. Mycroft looked down.

_He speaks to me. He doesn’t know who, or more precisely what, he’s addressing, but he does speak to me. And I’m never bored._

**_Ah. That is worth something. Well, I, for one, am going to go back at the first opportunity. Bored or not, I belong with John. I raid the biologists’ tent when there is a dearth of amusements in the animal world. It might be some consolation if you wanted to return. He spends much of his time there._ **

Mycroft blinked and looked at the screen.

_I like this part. You almost get killed._


	11. Chapter 11

“STAMFORD! STA-A-AMFORD! Merry Christmas, podjo! It’s Greg, uh, man, I am so drunk. I know it's late or early or whatever. But I had to just call and tell you I just had this dream, man, this incredible dream. But it was so real! Uh, there were two lizards, whiptails, you know, uh, one looked like the specimen two-two-one-B, the one you call Sherlock Holmes ‘cause of that thing with the snake, and the other looked like that one we saw once, but never saw again, two-two-one-A, remember that one? Anyway, they were fighting over the remote! Ha! And one, Sherlock, wanted to watch ‘Forensic Files,’ of course, and the other wanted to watch ‘House of Cards’! It was crazy, man. I love you, man, and not in a creepy way, in a brother-in-arms way. Love to the Missus, even though she hates me. Christ, I’m still drunk. Lestrade OUT!”


	12. Chapter 12

**_And so she used this to light a fire?_ **

_Yeah, there needs to be bright sun. And you have to angle it just so and aim it at some dry brush. But with time, there’s a spark, which you can fan into a blaze._

**_Extraordinary._ **

_Yeah, yeah, she is._

**_And you sacrificed your tail for her._ **

_Well, that’s what mates do, right? Uh, I mean, I’m sorry._

**_Don’t be sorry. What do you really think will happen, John?_ **

_Sherlock survives. It’s what she does. I think she’s out there, somewhere, surviving. And when there’s an opportunity, she’ll come back to me. The problem is I don’t when that opportunity will be._

**_You think she’s still with the biologist?_ **

_That’s my best guess. For now, all I can do is wait._

**_Waiting is horrible. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. What if we try an experiment of our own and see if we can bring Sherlock home? It might not work. It might even prove disastrous…_ **

_You just described every experiment Sherlock’s ever attempted so I’m game._

They looked at each other.

**_…and it’s better than waiting._ **

_…and it’s better than waiting._


	13. Chapter 13

> Bells will be ringing this sad, sad news.
> 
> Oh what a Christmas to have the blues.

“Ugh.”

> My baby's gone; I have no friends
> 
> To wish me greetings once again.

“Ugh.”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Jesus Christ, where’s my phone?”

Mycroft pushed the black rectangle with her snout until it peeked out from under the sofa.

“Where’s my phone, damn it? Oh. Here we go. Oh, Christ. Hi, Mom. Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too. Nah, I’ve just got a bit of cold, you know. Yeah, it’s in my sinuses, you know how that goes. Uh, what? I can’t do that, Mom. Because, for the hundredth time, I’m not that kind of doctor. You and George enjoying the cruise? Yeah, good, good. I’m sure it is nice. Uh-huh. All you can eat. Well, you can’t beat that—oh wait. Oh, okay. Yeah. Love you too. Bye.”

“Lestrade. WHAT? Oh my God! How did it—? Uh, do you need me to--? Oh, okay. All right. Let me just—. Thank you for calling. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Stamford, Stamford, pick up, man. Hey! Listen, uh, what? Oh, sorry about earlier. But listen, the tent’s on fire. Yeah, yeah. Ranger called. They don’t know how it started. You didn’t leave anything important—. What? You left that! Fuckin’ hell, man. Why in the world—? Okay, okay. No. I’m on my way. Let me pack a bag real quick, and I’ll go up there and see. No, no, man, stay with your family. I got no one. I’ll check it out and give you a call. Yeah, yeah. On my way, right now. Shit, shit, shit.”

Sherlock blinked.

**_Well done, John._ **

_You think she’s responsible?_

**_I know she’s responsible. There’s only one question: are you coming or not?_ **

Mycroft blinked and swished her tail slowly from side to side.

**_You heard him: ‘I got no one.’ You can stay here and continue being a ghost, continue being ‘no one,’ waiting for the morning when he wakes up and realizes that he’s in love with a lizard. Or you can come back and be someone, someone with a name, with a home, with a mate. Caring is only a disadvantage, Mycroft, when it makes you invisible, when it makes you less, when it makes you wait for the impossible._ **

“Fuck! Where are my fuckin’ keys? Never mind. I gotta get changed first.”

Mycroft pushed the tangle of metal with her snout.

**_Fine. Suit yourself. Good bye, Mycroft._ **

Mycroft’s eyes followed Sherlock as she raced toward the pack and attempted to scale it.

_Oh, for goodness sake! You don’t even know how to hide properly. He’s sure to find you there. Here let me show you…_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's taken this crazy little journey with me. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

**_Do you see anything?_ **

_That’s it! That’s the Jeep! Come on, let’s get as close as we can._

* * *

“Hey, let me through, that’s my tent! That’s my work, man! C’mon!”

_SHERLOCK?_

“Thank you, thank you! Um, have you seen a box?”

Sherlock hopped down to the gravel.

**_Miss me, John?_ **

John thrashed.

_You cold-blooded idiot!_

**_Merry Christmas._ **

_I don’t know what that means._

**_I’ll explain._ **

_Yeah, you have a lot of explaining to do._

**_Maybe a whole winter’s worth?_ **

_Easily._

**_Good fire, by the way._ **

_Yeah, yeah, got the tent, unfortunately, but missed all the surrounding wildlife area. But I can’t take the credit. It wasn’t my idea._

John turned and pointed her snout toward a clump of bushes.

The green-throated whiptail stepped out. _Hello, Sherlock._

**_Hello, um, wait just a minute._ **

John whipped her tail. _What, where are you going, Sherlock?_

**_What kind of mates would we be, John, if we didn’t bring a souvenir home?_ **

_Mates? We? What are you talking about, Sherlock?_

From the open door of the Jeep, there appeared a plastic bag. It fell to the ground, and Sherlock took the tip in her mouth and dragged it toward John.

**_Quick, let’s get this to the burrow._ **

_A bag of crickets?_

**_Not just any crickets, John. Crickety crickets. Mycroft, care to join us?_ **

_Mycroft? Who’s Mycroft?_

**_My sister._ **

_We’re all sisters, Sherlock._

Mycroft dropped from the Jeep and crept toward them.

**_Hello, Anthea. I’m so very sorry to have kept you waiting. A million of the sincerest apologies._ **

Anthea blinked. _Welcome home, Mycroft._

John dashed back and forth. _Anthea? Who’s Anthea? Oh! Is this your—? What is going on, Sherlock?_

Sherlock headed away from the smoke, towing the plastic bag behind her.

**_I’ll explain everything, John, but let’s get out of here._ **

John picked up the other edge of the bag.

_Ready when you are._

The two raced toward the burrow.

Mycroft blinked.

**_We should fortify ourselves for the journey home, my Dear. I trust everything in the burrow in still in satisfactory order…_ **

Anthea tilted her head.

_Yes. I have made a few improvements, however. The south wing has now has an additional exit/entrance in close proximity to a little-known, but well-populated beetle region…_

Side by side, they followed after Sherlock and John.

* * *

> Choirs will be singing "Silent Night."
> 
> Christmas carols by candlelight.
> 
> Please come home for Christmas.
> 
> Please come home for Christmas.

_Finally something we agree on. I hate this music, too, Sherlock._

**_How about some Tchaikovsky?_ **

_Anything’s better than this. Merry Christmas, Sherlock._

**_Merry Christmas, John._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Happy Holidays!


End file.
